Snakes, Really

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TW: Child Abuse; Physical Abuse

12 Grimmauld Place.

1966.

I find my brother in his room,

Door slightly open.

He doesn't see me

But I see him.

See him lift his shirt

And twist his thin body

In front of the cheval mirror.

And I'm quite confused now

As I watch my brother -

Because his entire torso

Is covered with long, red welts.

Welts that rise up from his skin.

A fact I can clearly see

Even from all the way over here

At my place by the door.

... Snakes, really

It looks like he has angry red snakes winding all around him,

Choking him.

It looks like he and the snakes are wrestling for control of his body.

I watch him hesitate now

Then reach a finger down

And press against one.

His face twists in immediate pain,

Eyes scrunching shut as he wordlessly howls.

But me? I stand transfixed.

I can't help myself

As I watch my brother examine his mysterious painful snakes.

That's when he catches me in the reflection ...

Turning around, he runs to the door

Flinging it all the way open

As he hisses in my face:

"Go away, Reggie! You stupid, nosy sneak!"

I think he wants to push me;

Hurt me, even.

But he won't.

Mother would kill him

If he ever laid a hand on me.

And I know, I see quite clearly

How in this moment my brother completely hates me.

"But -"

"Get," he growls, "Get out!"

Stepping back, he slams the door in my face.

Running to my room, I pull up my own shirt

And stare down at my belly.

But I don't have any such thing;

My skin's perfect

I don't have any red snakes twisting angrily around my body.

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